


just open it like a book

by sabinelagrande



Category: British Comedy RPF, Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Apples, Community: intoabar, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24533470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Bob just makes a slight miscalculation.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	just open it like a book

**Author's Note:**

> For intoabar 2020: Bob Mortimer goes into a bar and meets... Famine!
> 
> It's a fancy restaurant, but details.

What Bob does wrong is that he gets just a little too close to the table. He doesn't need to, strictly speaking; it's just kind of fun to get close. They're in an impossibly posh restaurant, so posh, in fact, that Bob, who can talk his way into most anywhere, had to change clothes. He misjudged it a little, still dressed slightly not posh enough.

Maybe that's why the man at the next table looks over at him. He's a black man in a sharp suit that is exactly posh enough, and something about his face holds malice, in a way that you would never be able to explain to anyone. He's been discussing with the woman who is with him- who Bob can't get a read on, maybe an executive assistant? An executive assistant he's also dating? Who can say- some plans for expansion into the global market. He's turned away from the diet world, though he shrugged it off when his diet pills killed all those people, and moved into some kind of pseudofood that Bob is actually really interested in at the same time that it turns his stomach.

"You seem awfully interested in my conversation," the man- Sable- says, looking at Bob. "If you're interested in my company's developments-"

Bob holds up his camera. "No, no, it's just, my wife, you see, she's a huge fan, she even took your pills, and after she got out of hospital she looked fantastic."

"Hm," Sable says, clearly unsure whether he believes Bob is a corporate spy or a bumbling fan. To Bob's mind, he wouldn't have gotten so bloody close to the table and tipped Sable off if he was a spy and not a fan, regardless of what Bob is.

No one says anything for a moment; the assistant is looking rapidly between the two of them, and she'll of course follow Sable's lead no matter what happens. Sable is looking at Bob like he's trying to look through him, read his thoughts. Bob is, as Bob does when threatened, trying to look affable and sweet and stupid, a look he has perfected for times like these.

"Did you know," Bob says carefully, "that I can tear an apple in half with my bare hands?"

Sable frowns, looking intrigued now. He waves a hand, and a waiter just materializes, waiting nervously for what Sable wants.

"Get me an apple," he says.

"Of course, sir," the waiter says.

"Any requirements of this apple?" Sable asks Bob.

"Ah, uncooked, with the skin on," Bob says to the waiter. He demonstrates with his hands. "About so big, preferably? And with the stalk still on it, if you've got one."

"Right away, sir," the waiter says, and he bustles off, like waiters in these places do.

Still no one says anything, but these people produce results in under a minute. The waiter brings it under a cloche, which he lifts delicately to display a perfectly ripe apple.

"I'll have that, thanks," Bob says, snatching the apple up and feeling its surface. This shouldn't be too bad. Don't twist, don't penetrate, and they should get through this one alright.

With some effort, Bob finds just the right spot and begins to tear into the apple. It's all about making the first little tear, and then the rest will follow. Thankfully, this one gives, is enough for him to get a good grip and just peel it apart.

"Ta-da," Bob says, holding out two halves of an apple for Sable and the assistant's perusal. The assistant claps, which Bob thinks is probably just nerves, but does add a bit of showmanship.

"How wasteful," Sable says, with a little smile on his face. He indicates himself. "Please, I'd be happy to take a picture for your wife."

"Oh, won't she be thrilled," Bob says, setting down the apple halves so he can snap several shots. When Bob lowers the camera, Sable stands up and walks away, his assistant trailing him.

Bob doesn't do anything for a moment, just kind of sits there and breathes, which is unnecessary but comforting. That was Dr. Raven Sable, Famine to his friends, and while the power of the Horsemen without their various bits of kit is lessened, Bob is certain it would have been enough to take out one nosy angel who needs to worry more about his table placement.

But they're acting differently these days. It's like the Horsemen are getting worked up about something. Famine's going global, War's engineering conflicts and not just participating, and Pollution is, well, whatever you like.

He is not assigned to deal with the other Horseman and he will just let that one lie, thank you.

He just feels like someone should be paying attention to this, even if it ends up being nothing. He's one soldier in the army who happened to be given an interesting job, but he needs the information to get to people who can use it better than he can. 

But who can he bring this to? Gabriel, Bob's ostensible boss? Gabriel won't even listen. He'll brush Bob off with some nonsense about Plans, like plans have ever been what mattered. Maybe Aziraphale, who seems not to know everybody knows he's going rogue? Aziraphale will take him seriously, maybe even a bit too seriously, but he's still Heavenly enough that he'll run back to Gabriel and leave them where they started.

Maybe not Aziraphale, but maybe slightly to the side.

"You were right to bring this to me," Crowley says. He drums his long, elegant fingers on the polished marble tabletop, tapping their black nails against its surface. "I think we better agree now that the bread in the cosmic sandwich does not need to be informed about this."

"Don't you lot-" Bob says, making a waving motion.

"Us?" Crowley says. "I thought it was you."

"Huh," Bob says. "You know, I've been at this a long time, and I don't actually know."

"If they're making motions, something is up," Crowley says. "They keep to their little identities or they blow their cover."

"So go all of us," Bob points out.

"I find people notice less if I change my hair," Crowley says. "Or my gender, that one's good too."

"Mm," Bob says, tipping his pint at Crowley. "Throws them off the scent."

"Yeah, plus you can skip the boring fashions," Crowley says. "Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"Monitoring the-"

"Right, right, right," Crowley says. "Let's just keep this quiet, and if we're lucky, it might calm itself down. Give it fifteen years, maybe? We can afford that much, way things are going."

"Worth a try," Bob says.

"Another?" Crowley says, lifting his glass.

"Oh, always," Bob says.

Three years later, a baby will be born, but neither of them know about that yet. Fourteen years later both of them, and both their organizations, and the Horsemen, and some other people beside, will know all about it.


End file.
